


The Honeycruise

by wtfmulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, RST, Season 7 pre-Millennium, Smut, UST, Undercover, fake married, they're on a ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24946762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: Mulder and Scully go undercover on a honeymoon cruise to investigate the deaths of two newlywed couples.Prompt: During an undercover assignment as a couple, Mulder and Scully find themselves in a situation where, to keep their cover, they have discuss their sex life and/or be affectionate with one another. Something that leads to first time sex.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 25
Kudos: 234
Collections: X-Files Smut Fanfic Exchange (2020)





	The Honeycruise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sarie_Fairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarie_Fairy/gifts).



> Hey! I was super happy to get you, Sarie_Fairy, I think you are an outstanding writer and an extremely supportive friend. I hope you enjoy the fic!

There they were, Isabell and her devoted husband Jeremy, clutching two fake passports and trunks filled with fashion choices that would make a pop star's ears bleed. Just ahead of them loomed The Honeycruise, a luxury passenger cruise ship that marketed itself as the ‘Wedding Chapel of the High Seas.’ Romance, romance, romance! the brochure yelled at them when their boss had awkwardly slid it to them over his desk. 24-hour spas, ballroom dancing classes, surround sound cinema, floor shows, dinners where even dessert was split up into several courses; this was the masterstroke of the modern day wedding industry, a resounding ‘Fuck you!’ to any traditional notions of romance.

Isabell and Jeremy stared at the boat, unsure.

Now Scully didn’t look much like an Isabell, but she was adamant that would be her name, and Mulder would be Jeremy. True to character he fought against it; he didn’t feel much like a Jeremy, either. She tossed him a curious smile, revealing no explanation for such odd choices, and patiently reminded him that it was her turn to pick the names. Jeremy and Isabell Carle. It didn’t roll off the tongue, he hated the idea of being referred to as Jeremy — and who was that guy, anyway? a _stock broker_? did he go golfing on the weekends? what did he choose to eat for breakfast - his secretary? — and he worried about slipping up when referring to Scully.

There was no room to argue, however, and he wasn’t all that inclined to push it much further than his initial tantrum. Scully could be Isabell; she could be Laura, Jennifer, Boris, or Spot, and at this particular moment in time she could convince him of anything. It was maddening. Cancer Man had wanted to put him to sleep like a dog, but he’d never felt more awake. The only apparent lasting side effect of that impromptu brain surgery was the beam of light that had struck through right where the hole had been made, illuminating nothing but Scully, Scully, Scully. Scully, whose book-smarts were scalpel sharp, but whose brains carried him like cotton ball clouds when he’d accidentally journeyed inside. Scully, who loved him.

Scully, who did not want to be on this fucking case. Which was exactly how she’d put it to him when word came crashing down from the brass. When the golden rings were brought back out, freshly polished, still a perfect fit, she stared at them like they were nooses. Mulder, for the second time in one year, made her hold her hand out while he slid it onto her ring finger. It was a vow in his own way, though Scully didn’t know that — I’m not going to be an asshole this time. I promise. You’re safe with me. And he’d looked forward to trying this stupid bullshit all over again.

But perhaps the matching ‘Just Married!’ t-shirts were a little much. He pinched his shirt, right where the two angelfish touched lips. Then he looked back at the boat. Beside him, Scully sighed.

***

The F.B.I., of course, spared all expenses, and their cabin was by far the worst in the ship. There was no room to do anything but be on the bed. The expectation of The Honeycruise was that its passengers were too busy spending money on its excessive amenities to come back to their room, which only served one purpose, anyway. It was a place to fuck. It was a place to fuck and be fucked, and to maybe brush your teeth and shower, and no, there was not a single cabin on the ship the offered more than one bed.

Mulder watched as Scully rifled through her trunk. She was clearly in distress trying to find something suitable to wear. She really, really hated the matching t-shirts.

“That looks fine,” Mulder said for the fifth time. It was true that all of the choices were exceptionally ugly, but at least she had a choice. The wardrobe he’d been gifted with was a mix of Hawaiian shirts even he found distasteful, and several pairs of tacky shorts. Scully had sundresses, shorts, button-ups, camisoles and t-shirts. Mulder suspected the imbalance in variety had a lot to do with how much nicer Scully was to the people they worked with.

She eyed the garment Mulder commented on with disdain, but gave up. It really wasn’t that bad compared to the other monstrosities now strewn about the room. It was a simple blue sundress with little yellow daisies on it, and she wedged herself between the bed and a small dresser to get changed in the bathroom. He waited for her, tapping the file against his knee.

He said nothing when she came out, although he deeply admired the curve of her shoulders, the delicate sculpture of her strong arms— and were those her knees? Had he ever seen her fucking knees before? But this was a part of his vow. Scully had little faith in his sincerity when it came to his attraction to her. He’d turned it into a joke for so long.

This was technically the third time he’d been fake married this year, and as the child of one nasty divorce, goddamnit he was determined to make sure it worked this time. Being married in Arcadia had been an exercise in maintaining distance. He’d tried to highlight the absurdity of it all, the underlying depravity that lurked in gated community romance, winking and nudging Scully with his get it? get it? brand of comedy, but some of the jokes had been at her expense. He could admit that. He’d been angry with her. He’d wanted her, and she’d committed the egregious crime of being honest when he hadn’t wanted to hear it.

Then came his nightmare-induced marriage to Diana. He didn’t want to think about that.

“Did you know fourteen percent of newlywed couples are opting to go on cruises for their honeymoon?” Mulder asked. Scully grunted in acknowledgment, folding up all the clothes she’d tossed around and shoving them into the dresser.

“And _Titanic_ came out three years ago,” Scully said. He grimaced. The dramamine had yet to kick in. He really didn’t want to think about sinking ships.

“I think it makes sense. The goddess of love and pleasure herself was born of seafoam,” Mulder said. He leaned back, wondering how long it would take her to convince herself to sit beside him on the bed. “Aphrodite was commonly symbolized by conch shells and gulls.”

“Didn’t she solve all of her problems by making everyone wanton and duplicitous?” She asked. “I dread seeing what her influence might look like on this ship.”

“Let me check, there was a swinger’s cruise heading the same way,” Mulder said, jokingly opening the file between his knees. She shot him a look. “Now that I think about it, that might be Dionysus’ party boat.”

She turned her back to him to fiddle with the knobs of the dresser and canvass the room. She was nervous. All he wanted to do was tell her stories of the sea, the thing she loved so much, and what he thought that meant about her. It was the place from where all things came; it would be the place all things disappeared. He wondered if she dreamed about the water — if it cleansed her, if she swam in it, but they started talking about the case instead.

It wasn’t one Mulder would normally feel drawn to, but its tragedy struck a chord with this changed version of him. Two couples slain on this very ship, sharing the same route but different departure dates. The first one was originally deemed a murder-suicide, but the second had raised suspicion. It had been a perfect copycat of the first one. The Honeycruise P.R. team maintained that a leak of information regarding the first case was more than impossible; after all, if there had been a leak, why were their packages still outselling every other liner?

Together he and Scully re-examined the crime scene photos in the file. In both slayings, the husband was left in a shower of his own blood, tipped over in the bath as his life spilled out through a gill slit in his neck. The wives coated themselves in their lovers’ gore, tied up the bedsheet into a hangman’s knot, and hoisted themselves by their necks over their honeymoon bed. They swung there, awashed in their frothy red lingerie.

Scully was adamant they were looking for a serial killer. Mulder was not so sure. The details were too perfect — the wounds too clean, too similar — and no evidence pointed to a third party being at the crime scene. The only fingerprints found on the murder weapons, knives knicked from the sky deck restaurant, were those of the wives.

No, Mulder suspected this was a case of compulsion. Something called out to those women and urged them to kill. They’d seen it before with Robert Modell and Linda Bowman. He also thought of sprits or jumbees, shadowy, malevolent entities from Carribean folklore, demons who were once human and whose only purpose was to commit atrocities. Religions from this region, Santeria, Obeah, and many others, were often maligned by those who followed more dominant religions, and the carnage involved in this case wouldn’t typically be associated with those practices. He ruled those out.

He would not, however, rule out sacrifice of some other sort. Witchcraft, perhaps. He had just told Scully that many gods and goddesses laid claim to the sea. He’d done a little research on water spirits while they were preparing for the case. Sirens, morgens, undines — mythological creatures who lured men to their deaths by taking on the form of a woman. Nothing like what’d they’d seen on the cruise ship, however, nothing so detailed, nothing where the creature took her own life as well.

But he and Scully both noted something special about this case, something odd. They hadn’t been allowed to conduct interviews with loved ones as it could have led to blowing their cover, but they did get the transcripts from the investigating agents on the task force.

Henry and Lainey, Emma and Jordan. All families, distraught, couldn’t stop talking about how in love they were. Friends remarked, almost bitterly, that they’d never seen love that strong. Henry and Lainey were childhood sweethearts; Emma and Jordan had met in group therapy. The former had a wedding so extravagant it made the news. The latter had a much quieter affair, but the reception had been almost a stream of long speeches, so many of their loved ones standing up to give toast. There were pictures of both couples in the file. So many intimate smiles, shared laughter. It was difficult to flip through them. It felt like they were both sitting in on a deeply private slideshow, peeping toms to their abject misery.

The owner of The Honeycruise was adamant that this would keep happening if no one came in to stop it. This was the first departure after the last murder, and if it happened again that would make three incidents in a row. They’d have to shut the whole thing down. Security had been reinforced and more cameras were being installed, but that only went so far. Some couples were having their most private moments on this ship. The backlash would ruin the liner if it got out how closely passengers were being watched.

The unexplainable nature of the copycat homicide was what made this an X-File. There’d been ample discussion on how they should approach this investigation — would it not serve them better to act as crew members, rather than passengers? So they could have unlimited access to the cabins? Scully certainly believed so. But there were just too many passengers. They couldn’t play a numbers game like that, hoping to eventually walk in on a deranged woman preparing to cut her husband like a fatted calf.

From there, a strategy was formed. Mulder and Scully would act as a honeymooning couple, participating in the daily activities to canvas out for any potential victims. Any couples that stood out, any newlyweds who gave off the uniquely magnetic energy as the two who’d lost their lives. It was a daunting prospect, seeing that they were surrounded by at least fifty other couples, but with no other leads, what else could they do?

It was twenty minutes till showtime. The welcome dinner would start at five. Mulder watched Scully lick her lips. He watched her shuffle against the wall. He watched her stare at a spot above his head.  
“Isabell,” he said.

“Mulder,” she replied.

“You’re a tenth grade math teacher,” he said quietly. “What college did you go to?”

“University of Washington,” she said. “Jeremy, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a school guidance counselor, but I regret not pushing past my Bachelors in psychology. All I do now is sit at home, read Ann Rule and swear I know everything about the inner workings of a psychopath.”

Uh-oh. Scully eyed him, and he worried this was another instance of him not taking this seriously. He’d only meant to add in a little spice. He breathed easy when she rolled her eyes and let him get away with it. “I’m sure you do know everything about the inner workings of a psychopath. How did we meet?”

“We work at the same high school,” he couldn’t help but smile. Inappropriate coworkers even still. “Cider Creek High. Dayton, Ohio. You were always in the front office copying graph paper for your kids and I always thought it was so cute how you’d say 'shit' every time the printer jammed.”

“You’re really good at this, Mulder,” Scully sighed. “I just don’t have the imagination you do. It’s hard enough being myself, sometimes.”

“Just make shit up, Scully. And you don’t have to be someone else entirely. You can still be… you. Just don’t talk about your cadaver buddies.”

“Not like I have many others,” she grumbled. Mulder felt a little offended, but he knew where Scully was coming from, deep down. They both lived such strange lives. Trying to act normal was a tall order; they had such little experience with it. If nothing else worked, they could pretend Jeremy was in love with a kook. In fact a little role reversal might be refreshing.

***

He escorted her down to the Key Ernesto ballroom, unsure of what to do with his hands. He tried putting it on her lower back like always. Then he found he didn’t really want to put it on her lower back. Her hips looked fantastic in her sundress and he wanted to touch them, wanted to hold his wife close, so he snuck his arm around her waist, felt her freeze up, then closed his eyes as she gently relaxed into his side.

The ballroom was almost obscene in its show of opulence, with its towering ivory columns, etched with golden detailing, velvet red steps and intricate carvings on the wood-paneled dance floor. Tables surrounded the floor and couples were beginning to flock to them. Mulder and Scully nabbed one near the back, one that gave them a perfect view of the crowd, and watched as each chair filled up.

Most couples danced the awkward dance of small talk with the other people who sat at their tables. Mulder and Scully observed tight smiles and weak handshakes, women toying with their puka shell necklaces and men laughing too hard at uncomfortable jokes.

One couple near the stage bowed heads together and waited for the program in patient silence, like no one else was in the room. Mulder caught Scully’s attention and nodded his head toward them.

Another couple at the table next to them, older, possibly early 70s, regaled a small audience with tales of their epic love. It was romantic, quite humorous, and at times downright disturbing. Scully pointed them out to Mulder, their boisterous grins and handsy affection.

But the more the agents looked, the more impossible the task became. The passengers of The Honeycruise were the happiest they’d ever been in their relationships. At one point or another they all looked like their love could be the thing of legends. The lighting didn’t help — the candlelit chandeliers would make a colonoscopy feel romantic — and the music didn’t help, either. An orchestra had taken its place on stage and crooned out something with a lot of strings, something soft and sweet and familiar.

Dinner was served and it was surprisingly bland. They ate the rubbery chicken and watched as others did the same. Scully snagged at some of his asparagus and he ate most of the bread, and no one at their table seemed that interested in interacting with them. Mulder wondered if their energy was off putting to others, and not for the first time.

Then the announcement was made that the dance floor would now be opening up to anyone who’d care to partake. An acknowledgment was made to the orchestral conductor and then the song changed into a lilting waltz.

He shared a look with Scully. “Is this…”

“The Vienna Blood Waltz?” Scully asked dryly. “You got it.”

“I first heard this in a Hitchcock movie,” Mulder mumbled, taking a sip of his wine.

More and more people filtered onto the dance floor. He sighed, realizing what they had to do. Knocking back one final sip, he stood up and reached a hand out to his partner. “C’mon, Isabell.”

“Mu- Jeremy,” Scully blushed.

“You can’t leave me hanging, Isabell. We’re married,” Mulder said, looking at her pointedly. We’re doing our jobs, his look said.

“But you’re wearing cargo shorts,” Scully whined. He looked down and had to laugh. He did look fucking ridiculous.

“I’ll let you take ‘em off later, Isabell. C’mon.” He lowered his voice into a request just for Scully. “Let me have this dance.”

To his surprise, that did it, and Scully let her cargo-shorts-wearing vacation chic fake husband drag her off to the dance floor.

Mulder knew how to waltz. Scully knew something like a waltz, but it wasn’t a waltz. They argued about that for a couple of minutes before they saw that no one else on that dance floor knew what they were doing, either. So they took to just rocking back and forth together, holding each other a respectable distance apart, tracking other participants as they glided over the polished floor.

Scully smelled good, like asparagus and her weekend body spray. Something nutty. He pressed himself closer to her, burying his nose in her hair.

“Jeremy…” she said softly, a warning she couldn’t follow through on. He pulled her even closer and now they were full-on slow dancing, cheek to chest, and her sigh gave him goosebumps.

He couldn’t get over how much of her there was to look at. How sick was it that even her shoulders gave him a thrill? “You’re beautiful,” he said, from deep in his chest. He felt too many other things to feel afraid of any consequences. “Scully.” He needed her to know. “Scully, you’re so beautiful.”

The way her chest rose and fell against him let him know all he needed to know about what she thought about that. He held her tight and looked over her head, back to work as always. Some lovers were laughing, some were getting pissed — stop stepping on my feet, you asshole — some were too drunk to stand up. None of them were all that special.

He turned around with Scully, exchanging viewpoints. She was melted butter in his arms. She was a sleepy pile of alien goo. But she was paying attention, his Scully, like she always was.

“Jeremy,” she said suddenly. He turned his head to see what she was looking at.

Both of them were met with two pairs of curious, dark eyes. While he and Scully had been eyeing the crowd, another couple had been eyeing them.

“I think we should talk to them,” Scully said. He agreed.

***

If energy was what the bureau wanted them to monitor, then they’d hit the fucking jackpot. Roger and Kayla Dechamps sizzled like an electric chair.

They fit together like only some married people do, attached at the seam, sewed and stitched and stapled in a way that made most other people uncomfortable. They reminded him of Morticia and Gomez. That was exactly it. With Kayla’s long dark hair and fluttering lashes, and Roger’s open, gentle expression, they looked exactly like Morticia and Gomez.

“How long have you been together?” Kayla drew out. She had a voice fit for the golden age of film. Mulder half wondered where she kept her long cigarettes and silk black gloves.

“Seven years now, right honey?” He asked Scully, who looked like she’d just swallowed a bug. That would be something she’d have to get used to. That part wasn’t an act. He was never very fond of pet names himself, but something about Scully just screamed out to be his honey. He squeezed her shoulders as a gentle reminder to ease back into the conversation.

“You got it,” she smiled. It wasn’t like Arcadia, where her tight smile hid knives. She just looked shy. Kayla ate that up, called her adorable. Her black eyes zoomed in on the way Mulder’s thumb circled over Scully’s bare arm.

“Kayla, baby, would you like another drink?” Roger nodded at her empty wine glass.

“I’d love that,” she grinned up at Roger. She purred whenever she spoke to him. Roger leaned down, caught her lips in a truly obscene kiss, and insisted Mulder join him on his mission.

There was no competition. If any wedded pair on this boat had been written in the stars, it was this odd couple. Roger clicked his tongue when they reached the bar, shaking his head. “God, that woman,” he sighed.

“I hear you,” Mulder replied. He didn’t have much experience with talking about a wife in front of other men. He figured sitcoms were bad examples. His own dad was a bad example, too. The best option, he decided, was to say something close enough to the truth. “I always think I could never want her more.”

Roger halted in his effort to get the bartender’s attention. “And then you do,” he finished.

Mulder’s head clouded over for a moment as if his single glass of wine had turned him inside out. Roger’s eyes didn’t leave his face. He blinked once, twice, and had to hold on to the bar as several images floated into his head that made his heart stop.

_— Scully, kneeling over his open mouth. A blur becomes the real thing, 3D surround sound, his partner becomes her pink, wet cunt, dripping ever so slowly onto his outstretched tongue. It’s sloooooow. So slow. But he has to wait for that single strand to fall, wait for her to let him taste her. All he can think about is putting his tongue inside of her, fucking her with it until she collapses on his face —_

“Jeremy, my man? Jeremy, are you okay?”

Mulder snapped back into focus with a violent shake of his head. “I’m sorry,” he gasped.

What the fuck was that?

He wouldn’t have made it back to the table if Roger hadn’t pushed him along, and he barely acknowledged Scully and Kayla as he slid into his seat.

Next to him, Scully shared in his difficulties.

***

Kayla — or was it Roger — or was it Mulder — it was Roger, Roger suggested they all go out onto the deck and get some air. And were they — did Mulder — okay, yes he did. Mulder agreed, and now they were going outside.

It was a beautiful night. The waves crashed gently against the bottom of the boat as it slowly slid them closer to their destination. Scully smelled the salt and the sweetness of the late hour, and her head cleared. She was still shaken up by the intensity of her vision. She’d fantasized about Mulder, of course, but never vividly. If she closed her eyes, he was still there —

_— Above her, fingers wrapped around his thick cock, pushing and pushing the wet tip across her aching bud. She begged for him to do it, to just fuck her already, and without any warning he made himself come without ever entering her. It splashed and slipped down down down, and he played in it as he fucked it inside of her with his fingers —_

Oh, christ. For the love of god. This was why she didn’t drink wine anymore.

“Jeremy,” Scully cut in, not caring about who she’d interrupted. “I think I need to go back to the cabin.”

“I’ll go with you,” Mulder said just as quickly. “I can feel the dramamine wearing off.”

“We’re so sorry to see you go,” Kayla pouted.

“You have to join us tomorrow,” Roger insisted. “We were thinking about checking out the spa. Give us a call at Deck 5, Room 15 if you get the chance.”

“We will.” Scully just barely remembered they had a job to do. They flew down to their deck.

They shut the door to their cabin, waited in silence for about fifteen seconds, and then Mulder tossed her on the bed. She flew like a rag doll. Lips that had never once met collided like a ship on a desolate shore, and she drank, and she drank, and she drank from him, crying out when he yanked her dress up and helped her slide out of it.

“Mulder, Mulder, oh my god,” she whimpered, struggling to get out of her bra. He pulled the cups down and she forgot all about taking it off as he sucked at her tits and begged her.

“Scully,” he chanted. “Oh, fuck, please, Scully, _please._ ” His rocking hips made her a little seasick. He was everywhere but where she wanted him, him and his stupid — fucking — cargo —

“Get those off, she demanded. He hiccuped and acquiesced, reaching down to unbutton and unzip. Just a few more seconds. Just a few more seconds and then they would finally —

“Scully, I have to — I’m gonna be sick,” Mulder stuttered miserably before flying off to the bathroom.

She sat there in a stunned haze, breasts out, legs spread as the retching sounds filled the room. Giving herself some time to catch her breath and come to her senses, she shimmied back into her dress and went to go join him in the bathroom.

“You weren’t kidding about the dramamine, huh,” she murmured, rubbing a hand down his back. The bathroom was so small she had to squish herself in the tub, but it was worth it to see Mulder relax a fraction and lean into her touch.

“How do I never get used to this?” He groaned. She hummed in her poor baby way and stroked his hair, waiting for him to finish with the patience of a saint.

The fog lifted, and when Mulder finished getting sick and brushed his teeth, they were both left to sit with their shock at the turn their night had taken.

“I feel very strongly that Roger and Kayla have something to do with this,” Mulder said, after awhile. Scully mumbled her agreement.

Nothing they’d faced before seemed so daunting as that big bed they’d have to sleep on. Scully slipped back into her old defenses, and while Mulder tossed and turned and stared at the ceiling, she took out her trusty tub of avocado clay mask and painted her face like she was applying war paint.

When she stepped back into the room, Mulder simply looked at her and chuckled. “That doesn’t make me want you less,” he said, and Scully paused at the confession. “But I can pretend it does,” he offered.

She didn’t know what to say. “Mulder, I…” She let it hang. She hadn’t expected to be called out.

“Can I have some, at least?” he asked.

“You want to do a mask?”

***

“Might make me feel better,” he shrugged. He still felt hot all over and now his throat hurt. And he was so tired of Scully thinking his love was so conditional, so shallow. He was so tired of being angry that he’d made her think that.

So he joined her in the bathroom again and he let her paint his face in muck. It burned his face a little, but then it soothed and cooled his skin, and he suddenly understood why so many women did it. He nipped at her when she almost got it in his nose. They waited for ten minutes and then they scrubbed it off. Then she made him put moisturizer on his face that smelled like lemon-zesty hospital.

***

They woke up the next morning, and Mulder might as well have been inside of her. By all means they should discuss this and set up some firm boundaries. There was nothing Mulder hated more when she tried to surpass his boundaries or tried to set up her own. Something was different about him now, though. There was a lightness in him she’d never seen before. How was she supposed to respond to his sincerity? He’d practically trained her to ignore it.

Each of them knew the other was awake, so there was no excuse for why they hadn’t pulled away. The weight of his hard cock between her thighs restored a cosmic imbalance she’d never known existed.

“Mulder,” she asked sleepily. “In those reports — did th’ have sex?”

“What?” He murmured, shifting his hips. She licked her lips at the smooth slide, closing her eyes when the shifting transitioned to a steady pumping.

“Did the — victims. Was there evidence of…” there was a brilliant curve to him that nudged her in all the right spots. Back and forth, back and forth, he dragged himself along her slit. She pushed back for positive reinforcement.

“Yeah but… Scully… they were on their honeymoon, I didn’t think…” He pawed at her pajama bottoms, signaling at his eventual goal of removing them.

Something didn’t sit well with her. She pulled away and sat up, ignoring his indignant whine.

“Last night, did anything odd happen to you?” She asked, smoothing down her pajamas and pulling her legs up to hug them.

His eyes widened in recognition.

“We have to find them again today,” he said. “Do you remember what cabin they said they’d be in?”

“Uh, deck 5? Room number 15?” She recalled from yesterday.

He nodded. They quietly went about getting dressed and ready for the day, both feeling like they had somehow dodged a bullet. Mulder stopped Scully on the way out by gently cupping the bottom of her elbow.

“Not here,” he said to her, searching her eyes for understanding. She nodded once. Then they left the room behind to go look for the enigmatic couple.

The man who opened the door at deck 5, room 15, didn’t look too happy to see them. “I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about,” he scoweled, slamming the door in their face. She was sure he’d answered the door in the nude.

“Are you sure we had the right room number?” Mulder asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Scully nodded, hearing Roger’s voice clear in her head. “Then I guess we need to look around to see if we can find them.”

The itinerary for the day’s events intimidated them more than any of Mulder’s monsters or aliens could. It was doubtful they’d have any luck. But then Scully remembered, flushing slightly when she recalled how openly she’d been lusting after Mulder, that Roger had made a comment about the spa.

That’s where they checked first. After an incredibly awkward, tension-filled couple’s massage, and ten minutes spent laughing at Mulder for eating the cucumbers from his eyelids, they saw no sign of Roger and Kayla.

They tried the restaurant, another deadend, but they hadn’t been able to resist the calling of the liner’s famed chocolate covered strawberries. He fed her the last one and looked at her like she was some sort of sea goddess. Christ, they had to get off this ship.

Next was the giftshop. Nothing to be found there except an assortment of truly deranged souvenirs. Mulder had shown her, in no particular order, a keychain that was nothing but a wooden penis, a hat with The Honeycruise owner’s face on it, and a questionably edible pair of women’s underwear. The giftshop was a bust.

At the pool, Mulder helped her put on her sunscreen and they lounged around on pool chairs, watching as other couples splashed at each other and canoodled on deck. His hands on her body made her feel whole. She’d never realized she lived her life so bereft. “Where else can we look?” She sighed, exhausted.

“I don’t think they want to be found,” Mulder said cryptically.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“The room number they gave us was fake,” he reminded her. “I don’t know that they actually expected us to find them in the morning.”

“You think they just wanted to get rid of us?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Permanently.”

Scully turned this over in her head, then pouted. “I thought we’d made some friends.” But she agreed with what Mulder was saying. Roger and Kayla had a presence that just felt… wrong. It wasn’t too difficult to imagine Kayla slitting a man’s throat. The chilling way her mind had clouded in that woman’s presence, how deeply Scully had wandered into her own subconscious just to escape the uncomfortable conversation. “Do you think they’re after another target? It seems like they’ve forgotten us,” she said.

They came to a half-agreement from there, with Mulder asserting that Kayla and Roger were some ancient water spirits, sex obsessed and thirsting for blood. Scully agreed with that last part. Arguing about it broke down a barrier Scully had been reinforcing for a very long time. They were able to discuss the case without getting heated, sharing one beach chair and trading their opinions back and forth. She was able to refute Mulder without him taking it personally. In fact, they laughed as they argued, and they teased and they bantered as they read the schedule together, trying to pinpoint the next place they might find the murderous Ricky and Lucy.

A shadow appeared over their canoodling, drawing their attention and making them look up from the pamphlet. Speak of the devil. It was almost like they possessed summoning powers.

“Isabell, Jeremy,” Roger greeted, much less pleased with them than he was the night before. His bleached grin lacked all human sincerity. “So good to see you. Sorry we missed you at the spa.”

“Why don’t you come see our cabin?” Kayla offered. “It has quite the view. I’ll pour us some champagne.”

Mulder and Scully shared a look.

“Of course,” Scully accepted, and then they were all off to Deck 5.

Kayla hadn’t been lying; their cabin was one of the nicest the ship had to offer, with plenty of space, a mini bar, and a straight view of the passing ocean.

Everything went fine until their generous offer of champagne was rejected; her sweet, charming facade had slipped, and Kayla looked like she wanted to smash the bottle over Scully’s head. She was only placated by the gentle touch of her devoted husband.

“Why don’t Jeremy and I go get something from the gift shop that’s more to everyone’s taste, huh dear?”

Despite the danger of splitting up, Mulder agreed to leave with Roger and Scully agreed to stay with Kayla. The investigation couldn’t go anywhere if they didn’t make a decision. Just like yesterday, the visions poured in as their new companion droned meaninglessly in the background, increasing in their obscenity as they flew in.

_— his thumbs, gently parting her folds as his nose nudged her clit, his tongue sliding into her after he’d asked, no, begged, begged her to fuck his face —_

_— her on her knees, holding out her breasts as he slid his fat cock between them. Tongue poking out to lick at the tip while moved and moved and moved —_

_— come on me Mulder I want you to I want you to come all over my face —_

_— an open palm sharp on her bright red ass —_

_— a bite mark on the back of her neck —_

_— her hands wrapped around his fragile throat, his screams echoing in the cabin as she rode him hard —_

_— he likes this he likes to be choked he likes it hard keep going Dana keep going —_

“Doesn’t he make you feel so safe?” Kayla asked her, only background noise. “Don’t you want to be covered in him? Don’t you want to bathe in all the love he has to offer?”

***

“Don’t you want to be owned by her?”

_— she smacks him hard and fucks him stupid, then yanks him by the hair to force him to look at her —_

_— he likes her hands around his throat, he likes to disappear into that quiet space, he likes it when she lets the show fade to black —_

Yes, Mulder thought. Yes, I do. But it was an odd question, because he was already owned by Scully.

And just like that the visions faded. Roger looked exhausted from the mental energy he’d wasted on Fox Mulder. He needed to be carried back to the cabin, where Kayla was suffering a similar fate.

In their luggage, Mulder and Scully found several fake IDs and ticket stubs that proved they’d been on the last three voyages of The Honeycruise. They kept detailed notes of each of the victims. Isabell and Jeremy were on the list. Underneath their names: _It’s the way they look at each other. It’s the way they know each other. Oh, how we want that._

They were held in special quarters where they would be monitored until they docked at Coco Grove, where they’d be apprehended by the police and flown back to the states.

Mulder and Scully didn’t have a lot of concrete information to put in their case reports — Kayla and Roger admitted to very little, and as much as Mulder could infer based on his own research, nothing would ever be confirmed. He hypothesized that the pair were ancient creatures, human only in appearance, who harnessed energy by tapping into powerful sources of emotion like love and lust. That would explain how they went about choosing their victims. Scully didn’t disagree with him, but made sure to note that no evidence had pointed to any concrete solution. That was a huge step. One of the biggest he’d seen from Scully, and it gave him a lot of hope.

***

They still had one more night on the ship before they reached the Bahamas and arranged flights back to D.C. They weren’t the type to appreciate the kind of romance that could be slapped on a boat. None of the entertainment options appealed to them. They shared a nice dinner, watched the waves crash against the bottom of the boat as they peered over the deck, and walked back to their cabin hand in hand.

“I haven’t felt sick all day,” Mulder announced in triumph, collapsing on the bed while Scully began her night routine. She wouldn’t let him do another face mask; she didn’t want him to dry out his skin.

“That’s great, Mulder, looks like you’re finally getting your sea legs,” Scully said.

Nothing about her looked different when she stood at the foot of the bed. She was the same Scully she’d always been. He’d looked at that same face for over half a decade, and each night he’d deny the necessity of her in his life. There’d never been anything more important. He’d never needed anything more.

“Isabell,” he flirted, patting the bed beside him. It was similar to a joke he’d made all those months ago in Arcadia, but the intent was not at all the same. Scully had no choice but to crawl in beside him. She knew that he meant it. He watched with parted lips as she slowly twisted herself in the sheets. They kissed, and this time it felt right.

It had been nice to pretend with her that they had a normal life, that they were the kind of partners who could afford to forget the problems they had back home by sheathing themselves in ultimate luxury. Playing pretend could never hold a candle to the reality of kissing the woman he loved most, the woman he has killed for and would die for and who freely offered up the same. He would kill to never stop kissing her.

“Scully,” he moaned into her mouth. “God, Scully.” She answered with a sweet sigh. They were moving together, discarding clothes and running hands over each other’s taut skin. She was soft all over, from the silk of her hair to the scar on her belly to the insides of her knees, and he wanted to rub himself all over her.

She growled when he slipped a finger inside of her, a noise that made him chuckle. He nibbled at the lobe of her ear and soothed her as she came in his arms with a shudder and a sharp whine. When he felt the clutch of her tight muscle around his fingers, he drove himself crazy with the knowledge of how hot and wet she was, how good she’d feel around him when he finally pushed inside.

Scully broke their kiss to boss him around and get him up against the headboard in a sitting position so she could straddle his lap. It was a good choice. They could kiss, he could watch her face as she broke, he could touch her all over as she pleasured herself on his cock. She lined him up to her entrance, racking him between her thighs and grabbing his hair to keep him in place. Then she eased down slowly, drawing it out to torture them both, and sighed blissfully when she got him all the way in.

He couldn’t keep his eyes open, couldn’t look at her without falling apart, so he tugged her into another kiss instead as she moved like the tide above him. Up and down, up and down, cradling the back of his head as she kissed him back, her tongue slowly dancing with his as they began to find their rhythm.

He sought out her left hand and held her knuckles to his mouth, and when she realized what he meant by that she picked up her pace, crying out loudly in the quiet cabin. She would never know how much he loved her. He couldn’t even explain it himself.

It ended all too soon. It was too much; she clutched him too tightly when she came for the second time, and he had no choice but to follow right behind her. He wondered if she knew that she could be anyone, and they could be anywhere, and he’d always love her just like this.


End file.
